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through crisp, short hair at the nape of his neck. His hands dropped to her waist, and he pulled her firmly against him in a hold so intimate that Jenny had to quell the instinct to press her hips against his.
    His heart pounded against her breast, an ardent, undeniable appeal. His breath came in short bursts, between deepening, wet kisses she relished. Groaning, Gabe’s fingers dug into her waist as he pushed her away, putting a good half of a foot between their heated bodies. He rested his forehead against hers, while drawing in several deep breaths. “I should go.”
    Gabe didn’t lift his head or remove his hands from her waist, and Jenny’s hands remained locked around his neck.
    “I have to go.”
    Mind numb, Jenny’s consciousness lagged several seconds behind. She released him, and trailed hands down his chest. “Okay.”
    “Geeze. We’re standing in your front yard making out like teenagers when I should be taking care of poor Mr. Rogers.” He shook his head, bemused. “You’re a bad influence, Jenny Campbell.”
    No kidding . Wasn’t the first time she’d heard that, but this time she didn’t mind in the least.
    “Yeah, but you like me anyway.” She flashed him a sassy smile. “’Night.” Pulling out of his arms, she scooted into the house before she gave into the temptation to invite him in and the hell with Mr. Rogers.
    Now that was a proper kiss. Jenny shut the door, closed her eyes, and leaned against the hard wood, staying that way until she heard his car pull away. Great kisser. Great guy.
    Taking a deep breath, she pushed away from the door, kicked off her shoes, and tossed her keys and purse onto the table. Jenny poured herself a Sprite Zero and sat at her desk. She jotted down a quick note to call her editor at ten-thirty Monday morning then scrolled through the messages on her phone. Nothing from Starbucks.
    What ever happened to common courtesy? She’d interviewed with them more than a week ago; they couldn’t even take the time to drop her a note letting her know she’d been passed over? Or were they still interviewing candidates? Maybe she needed to do an article on the demise of polite social behavior. Yeah, that’ll get you a job.
    Jenny opened her Gmail. Eureka! An email from Nordstrom’s. Working retail again wasn’t her first choice, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing either. Jenny opened the email, then drooped into her seat. Dear Jenny, I appreciate you coming out and interviewing, but the position has been filled. We will keep you in mind …Yada yada yada.
    “Don’t bother,” she muttered and tossed the phone onto the desk. She needed the extra money now. She had to start whittling away at that balance on her credit cards.
    Jenny’d indulged herself a little too much lately, buying her MacBook Air, Cannon DSLR, computer backpack, several new outfits, and a few other costly accessories she needed for work.
    After all, if she expected people to take her seriously, if she wanted her editor to trust her with the choice assignments, she needed to look like a professional. But when the bill came in, she’d been shocked at the price of chic professionalism.
    Not to mention that darn hundred and twenty-five-dollar Zorlac. Considering all Michael’s medical bills, that had to be the most expensive skateboard on the face of the earth.
    To be fair, the Jeep repair was not her fault; the transmission died on her. Unfortunately, resuscitating the Jeep added another three thousand dollars to her already stressed VISA and MasterCard—she’d had to split the payment between them.
    Jenny scowled and pursed her lips. She needed to make money, and fast. Even taking in a roommate hadn’t helped as much as she’d hoped. She fingered a sheet of paper with her roommate’s suggestion. Cindy paid for extra goodies and vacations being a part-time nanny. Sittercity.com, eh?
    Jenny hadn’t babysat anyone other than Michael, and that’d been a long time ago. But there was a lot of